


Whisper

by octoberinlondon



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octoberinlondon/pseuds/octoberinlondon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why don’t you keep going on?<br/>Fortune’s wheel keeps turning…always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hearts Whisper

_Never forget who you are…and the great name that you bear._

She’d given her father a promise. She’d broken that promise. 

Sometimes she couldn’t remember who she was until it painfully flashed before her eyes. She was Anne Neville, Queen of England. She was the consort of King Richard III, but she was almost certain history would wipe out her name. She would not be the woman to be remembered as the king’s wife. She had failed. 

She had no son to follow his father on the throne, and all she’d done after her son’s death was to watch herself being replaced. She wondered whether Richard actually realised what he was doing. Maybe it was her very own fault, maybe…

Her finger started to draw a circle in the air. The wheel of fortune. She stopped at the top. _My days as duchess of Gloucester_. She thought. Then her finger continued until it reached the bottom. _My days as Queen consort of England_. Her finger didn’t move further. It kept staying at the bottom. 

“Why don’t you keep going on?”

She hadn’t noticed Richard. He sat by the fireplace, watching her. He always did, ever since Ned had died. 

“Fortune’s wheel keeps turning…always.” He mumbled. 

“I am not so sure about that.”

She looked at him. He wouldn’t push her, he never had. 

“I’ve heard the rumours.” She said.

“They’re nonsense.” He spat. 

“God, Anne! Would you really believe I’d put you aside? That I’d poison you? That I’d marry my niece against all Christian values?” He paused for a second. 

“You used to believe in me. You were the only one who always believed in me.” 

He looked like a wild animal, trapped in a cage, wandering up and down in her chamber. Her eyes followed him, they almost looked like two thin lines slit into her face. He’d never talked to her about it. 

“Why now?” 

“Because I can’t take it anymore. I am tired of being ignored by you. I am tired of seeing the accusation in your eyes, even though I’ve done nothing wrong!” He’d almost yelled at her. He wanted to coax any kind of emotion out of her. He wanted to melt the ice that had frozen around her heart.

He still loved her. 

“You said I should let him run around…that he’s a boy and that’s what boys do.” Her eyes used to look like sapphires, now they looked like steel. 

“So you blame his death on me.”

He clenched his hand to a fist, trying to control the anger that Anne had lit within his chest. It was turning into a fire that would consume him if he didn’t stop it. 

“No, no I don’t blame it on you. I blame it on myself. I have defied your will so many times…but this time I did not.” 

Anne closed her eyes. She tried to hold back the tears. She’d sounded so calm.

“Oh, Anne! God, Anne!” 

He fell on his knees before her, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close to him. He pressed his face against her lap, wanting to still the sobs which were shaking his whole body. Anne felt helpless. She wasn’t used to his body being so close to her. She’d lost the memory of that feeling a long time ago. 

She tangled her fingers in his hair, just like she always used to… Suddenly, the sobs turned into a deep growl. 

_He needs me. He still needs me. He has always needed me_. Anne thought.

“Talk to me about Tudor.” She murmured. 

He shook his head. No. He didn’t want to see her worried. 

“We used to talk so much…about everything.” 

She got lost in her thoughts again. Thoughts about happier days they’d spent on the top of the wheel of fortune. 

“We used to laugh as well.” He murmured. “We laughed even when there was nothing to laugh about.” 

He thought about the day he’d saved her from the battlefield. He’d asked her if she would love him. She had smiled, laughed even. He thought about the day he’d rescued her from the fate of a kitchen maid. 

“We used to love each other so deeply.” Anne replied. 

Richard sighed. “I still do.” 

Anne’s eyes softened. 

A different day it seemed to be. Not a day like the ones before. 

She took his hand. A rough hand. The hand of a warrior. _Her hand is so small; there are no marks of the past. I know they’ve been there. I’ve seen them. I’ve touched and felt them_. He thought as he pressed her hand against his lips. 

“I missed you.” Anne murmured, lowering her eyes. 

“I am lost without you.”

It was the sweetest whisper she’d ever heard. 

He pulled her up on her feet and close to him. Anne realised how much she needed him. He did not only need her, she needed him. 

_What a strange day_. She thought as she felt his lips touching hers. Tonight she would give him everything. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her body felt limp, she heard a hissing noise and saw only dark and white spots. 

_Oh, Richard_. Anne thought. 

She knew she was lying in her own blood, dying. Slowly. 

_This should have brought us happiness again. Maybe it will lighten up your life. I can’t do it anymore. I am sorry._

Life slipped through her fingers just like her mother’s pink pearls had when she’d still been a little child. 

“Anne! Anne!” Richard howled. 

He tried to shake her body, to wake her up, to keep her from joining those who’d left a long time ago. 

“Oh, Richard.” She groaned, reverently touching his face with the last of her remaining strength.

She groaned again as her hand fell against her body. She didn’t have any strength left. He pressed her against his body, as if the warmth of his body could revive her. He howled like a wounded animal. 

“Don’t you dare to leave me, Anne! Don’t you dare to leave us.” He sobbed; he couldn’t see anything, tears blurring his vision. 

“What is it?” She looked at him, even though it seemed that this little gesture mercilessly sucked the life out of her. 

“A girl, it’s a lovely little girl.” 

Anne closed her eyes. She had failed. She had failed her father, the kingdom, and she had failed him. No Neville boy would sit on the throne. 

“Don’t name her Anne. Name her after your mother. She is strong, and maybe our girl will have her strength too.” 

Richard turned around. “Bring the child, don’t you dare not to hurry.” 

He shifted a bit and sat behind her, steadying her. The babe was brought to them, and Anne gathered all her strength to hold her…even though she knew it would be only this once. 

“She’s lovely.” Anne smiled and pressed the little bundle against her chest. She didn’t care about her being a girl anymore. She felt her daughter’s heartbeat. She felt at peace. 

“She is. She looks just like you.” Richard bit his lip. 

“Promise me to care for her. Be there for her. Love her. She needs you.” Anne gasped, and Richard could feel that his warmth, and the warmth of his child wasn’t enough anymore. 

“I promise.”

“Maybe England will be ready for a Queen...Richard!” Her breath was ragged. Richard silently ordered the midwife to bring the child away. He wanted to hold Anne, only Anne for this one last time. 

“I love you. Ever since the day I stood at the window, watching you arrive at Middleham…and I have loved you…during the darkest…time…”

Her body fell against his. 

“I love you, Anne.” He murmured against her hair, just before a violent scream filled the halls of the silent palace.


	2. Whispers of the Past and Future

The Queen had died three months ago. To some of the courtiers it seemed to be a miracle that the King hadn’t died out of grief yet. Though he showed little to no interest in life. He didn’t even care about the child…even though the Queen had died for the child. 

He had shut himself away from the world and preferred to stay in his chambers, unaccompanied and lonely. All his duties had been bequeathed to his best friend Francis Lovell, who was anything but delighted about it.

Francis Lovell had a little lisp; he’d always had it and accepted it easily due to his peaceful and calm nature. The lisp didn’t actually bother anyone, but since he’d become kind of a replacement for an _emotionally unstable_ king, as the parliament had put it, the lisp wasn’t a lisp anymore. Francis was stammering terribly, and the nervous twitching of his right eye added to his discomfort. Yet, he would not leave his best friend alone. Not now. 

It was Lovell who paid daily visits to the little princess, whose upbringing was ensured by her grandmothers, the Dowager Countess of Warwick and the Dowager Duchess of York. To Nan Beauchamp the little one was everything left of her youngest daughter and the chance to make up for all her wrongs. 

“How is the little princess today?” Francis asked softly. His visits marked the only time his lisp wasn’t apparent and the stammer completely gone. 

“Very well, I’d say,” the Duchess replied, smiling at Francis. The tender wish to see her son doing what Francis was doing right now became stronger and stronger, making her sigh. 

Francis bent over the cradle, starting to smile as he saw the little princess. A small thing she was, but she seemed to have inherited her mother’s looks, as well as her fierce will to live. She also had her mother’s strength, little Cecily definitely had enough of it to cry for a whole night. Yes, she was definitely Anne Neville’s daughter. Francis could see little to nothing of Richard in her. 

“I wish Richard would come to see her as well. I’m sure she could help him to ease the pain.” 

Francis nodded and looked at the Duchess, who was currently working on a new blanket for her granddaughter. 

“It’s a shame,” the Countess mumbled. “He’s held her only once, when he still believed…” A lump had formed in her throat and she was unable to go on. 

“…when he still believed Anne would make it through.” Francis finished. 

Silence filled the room. The most uncomfortable and aching silence. A silence full of pain and regret. Little Cecily began to cry and Francis, being the one to stand the closest to her, picked her up. 

_A pity he doesn’t have children of his own_. The Duchess, who’d known Francis since he’d been a little boy, thought, a compassionate sigh leaving her lips. As soon as the royal tears had dried and the cries had turned into little, almost not noticeable sobs, Francis placed her back into the cradle. 

_Enough of this!_ He thought. _I’m going to talk to Richard. He cannot blame everything on this poor little girl who has to suffer the most because of her mother’s death._

Richard sat by the fireplace. It was cold and forsaken, yet he couldn’t help but stare at it. He still grieved. He and Anne could have had it all. He had defeated Tudor. The boy and his damned uncle had lost their heads, and his mother would spend the rest of her days in the Tower. Richard was finally able to rule England without the fear of being overthrown. 

Anne had carried a child. She had given birth to a child. They could have had it all, but Anne was gone. She would never come back to him. He pressed his hand against his chest. Did he still have a heart? Did it still beat? He wasn’t sure about it.

Richard knew he should rule his kingdom. He knew he should go on, but he couldn’t. He knew about the pressure he had put on Francis’ shoulders, but he didn’t care. He just couldn’t care. 

Francis knocked at the door. He was not even sure why he was even doing it. Richard wouldn’t answer anyway. So, he stepped in, the sight of his best friend and King shocked and saddened him deeply. He was not sure whether the man in front of him was actually Richard. 

Francis cleared his throat. “Your Grace…” Francis paused…yes, what was he supposed to say? Richard didn’t even bother to look up. 

“Didn’t I tell you that you might decide however you like?” 

“No, it’s not about that, at least not now.” 

Richard finally looked up, one of his brows raised. 

“It’s about the princess Cecily…your daughter.” Francis stammered. Usually, he didn’t stammer when he was alone with Richard. He didn’t even lisp…usually. 

“Hmm.” The mentioning of his child made Richard wince. He’d been so happy. Anne had been so happy. He’d touched her swollen belly and talked to the child, had felt it kick, and had seen Anne bloom like a beautiful flower. Everything had been for naught. 

He could still hear Anne’s laughter. She had been able to laugh again. She had not been barren. Richard’s gentle assurance that they would have more children and it did not matter to him whether this child would be a boy or a girl had made her smile too. As a man, he had cared little about the baby’s gender. Of course, he’d always known that, as a king, he needed a son. 

Still, he had laughed as they’d brought the little bundle to him. A fierce little thing, that looked exactly like its mother. He’d really thought they’d be able to laugh again, until they’d called him to the Queen, telling him she was dying. He didn’t know whether he actually blamed her for her mother’s death. He just didn’t want to see her. 

“Richard, please, she needs you.”

“Why would she need me? She has my mother and the Countess.” He replied, anger carving wrinkles into his forehead. 

“She needs her father.” The tone of Francis voice was desperate, almost begging. 

“But I don’t need her.” Richard grunted.

“Enough of this, Richard. You do very well need her! She could help you. She’s a part of Anne, after all.” 

“Anne is dead.” 

“Yes, she is and she would be ashamed if she could see your behaviour towards your daughter.” Francis almost yelled, and Richard jumped up immediately, pressing Francis against the wall and his arm against the throat of his best friend. 

“Don’t you dare, don’t you dare…don’t you… You know nothing!” Richard spat. 

“I know that Anne loved this child the minute she knew she carried it. I know that Anne loved this child the minute she died.” 

Francis tried to breathe as normally as possible. Richard let go of the younger man, turning his back to him.

“Leave.” 

“Richard…”

“Leave!” 

Francis sighed. There was no use in talking to Richard now…and he doubted there would ever be one. Before he left, Francis turned around for the last time. 

“No matter how hard you try to deny it…she needs you and you need her. A short visit won’t hurt you.”

With that, he turned and left. Richard waited until he heard the door close behind Francis before he fell on his knees. 

“Anne…oh, Anne,” he muttered, folding his hands to pray, to pray the emptiness away. His soul, his heart, everything felt empty. Yet, he had to admit, Francis’ words had a certain impact on him, and even though he tried, he couldn’t deny that Francis was right.

“Oh, Anne…tell me what to do…” 

Darkness had covered the sky and the hour was close to midnight as the king left his chamber. He felt alienated to the world outside after this long time of self-chosen isolation. Richard prayed that no one would cross his paths, as he did one heavy step after the other. 

The nursery tower. _A short visit won’t hurt_. Francis’ words still echoed in his ears. His thoughts were filled with one word…one name… _Anne_. 

Yes, she would be ashamed…and angry. She would have slapped him…if she still could. He stopped for a few seconds, hoping that his grief wouldn’t overwhelm him. Taking a deep breath and clearing his throat was all he could do…he just had to go on. 

He knew he just had to go on as he heard the cries of a baby…of his child. She sounded so sad and so lonely, Richard felt the sudden urge…the need to hold and console her. 

He stepped into the nursery, where the nurse desperately tried to calm the precious child by rocking the cradle gently back and forth. She knew the princess had been fed and cleaned. She knew the little one cried out of loneliness, because there was no mother who could hold her and gently stroke her back to calm her, and her father didn’t care about her. She yawned; another sleepless night and even darker shadows under her eyes were ahead of her. 

She didn’t notice the king at first and jumped as he approached the cradle. He shook his head, preventing her from falling into a deep curtsy.

“Just leave us.” He muttered and the nurse did instantly as she was told. 

Richard looked at his daughter. Anne’s graceful chin, Anne’s fine ears, Anne’s little nose, and even Anne’s beautiful blue eyes greeted him. His legs gave in and he fell on his knees in front of the cradle, barely able to breathe. 

“Forgive me, Anne.” He whispered, suddenly reminded of the promise he’d given his dying wife. With all of his strength, he rose up, and drew the crying child into his arms. 

“Shh.” He muttered, remembering how he had calmed his firstborn more than ten years ago. “I’m here, Cecily. I’m here. I won’t leave you, I promise.”

He felt the little body relax and as he sat down on the rocking chair, gently placing a kiss on the tiny head, the crying had ceased and the even sound of her breath told him she was falling asleep. He pressed the child close. He didn’t know how he had been able to leave her alone. He would never leave her alone again. 

“Thank you, Anne.”


	3. Whispering Ghosts

The life of Duchess Cecily had her prepared for everything; still, what she witnessed that morning would have never crossed her mind after the past three months.

She always visited her granddaughter in the early mornings. It surprised her to find little Cecily’s nurse Jane sitting in the outer chamber, stitching. 

“Your Grace.” The nurse got up and bowed. 

“Good morning, Jane. Shouldn’t you be with the little princess?”

“Oh, I believe the little princess is fine without me, your Grace.” The nurse smiled, making the Duchess raise her eyebrows in astonishment. “You should see it, your Grace. I still think it’s a miracle.” 

Cecily still couldn’t figure out what the nurse wanted to tell her. She opened the door, careful not to make a sound. Usually, little Cecily, as she fondly called her granddaughter, would be already awake at this time. But she wasn’t, and neither was her father. The Duchess gasped almost not audible, yet still loud enough to make Richard stir a bit. She stood still, didn’t even dare to breathe, until she was sure her son would continue to sleep. 

Cecily had never been one to cry easily, but seeing her son, sitting in the rocking chair, holding his daughter close to his chest almost left her in tears. It was the first time in months that both had looked so peaceful. Her granddaughter’s little fingers held a tight grip on her father’s shirt, and Cecily wondered whether she’d done that all night, and whether the little fingers didn’t already hurt. 

The urge to kiss them was so strong, the Duchess had to turn away from the scene and leave the chamber, before closing the door behind her. 

“I still cannot believe it.” She muttered to herself, turning to the nurse. “Let them sleep, Jane. Even if it’s for a hundred years. Good heavens, let them sleep!”

As Richard finally woke up, an hour after his mother had left the nursery, he found his daughter looking at him, a serene and peaceful smile on her face, even though he was sure, she didn’t even know what she was doing exactly. 

“Good morning.” Richard murmured and received a little gurgle, which almost sounded like laughter in response. 

“You must be hungry.” He cleared his throat and got up, his head felt dizzy, and his knees shook a bit, but he stretched his limbs and the feeling vanished. He shifted his daughter in his arms, noticing the tight grip on his shirt. 

“I’m not going to leave you, sweetheart.” Richard kissed the top of the tiny head. It still felt surreal. Little Cecily didn’t loose her grip, showing her father that she had even inherited her mother’s stubbornness. He left for the outer chamber, turning reluctantly to the nurse. 

“Feed her, would you? I’m sure she’s hungry. And let her be brought to my chamber in about an hour.” 

The child mewled in protest as Richard handed her to the nurse. He smiled, yes, definitely just like her mother; it almost tempted him to laugh. 

Richard raced through the corridors, barking orders to have a bath prepared for him, and Lovell sent to his chamber. All he wanted was to get fresh again, and then hold his daughter for some time. 

The door to his chamber opened and closed with a crack. Richard leaned against it, taking a deep breath. He felt as if the picture on the wall was finally not expressing discontent anymore, but joy.

“That makes you glad, doesn’t it?” He looked at the painting. Anne. For the first time she seemed to smile back at him. He’d commissioned it a few months before her death. The midwives had just confirmed her suspicion and a smile had found its way back on her face. 

The images flashed before his eyes and he winced in pain. Her blushed face as she flew into his arms. The wide smile as she pressed her lips against his. Her fingers gently buried in his curls as he fell on his knees to kiss her flat stomach. The painting had caught these moments and would preserve them for eternity. 

“She’s just like you. She has your ears, your nose, your eyes…and your spirit. If you could only be here right now.” 

He ran his hand through his hair, again tormented by the memories. 

_“Can you feel it?”_ He heard her laughing. _“Right here.”_ He could feel her take his hand and guide it to her swollen belly. Laughter formed in the back of his throat as he felt his child kicking. _“Doesn’t it hurt?”_ He gently rubbed the spot where the child was still moving and kicking. _“No, not at all. It’s reassuring. It will be fine.”_

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. _“I wish I could have felt Ned’s first kick…”_ Silence followed his words. _“It wasn’t your fault.”_ The memory of their boy lingered on for a few moments before Anne snuggled close to Richard again. She was determined to carry this child to term, to give birth, to give her life if she had to. 

“Your Grace? The bath is prepared.” He jumped at the words of the squire, but caught himself quickly and nodded.

Francis raised an eyebrow as the squire told him to come to Richard’s chamber. He’d not been prepared for this. It seemed only a few hours ago that his best friend, his King, had told him to leave him alone. He was on the verge of telling the squire that the King could frankly go to hell, but he didn’t do it. Instead, he got up and followed the squire to Richard’s chamber. 

“If you want to have me executed, go ahead! I can go to the block with my head held high, because I’ve told the truth, nothing but the truth, and I would tell you the same thing again. Yes, again, and again, and again. I don’t regret anything, I-…”

Richard’s laughter stopped Francis and confused him terribly. 

“No stammering, Lovell, that’s good,” Richard grinned, fumbling at the last button of his doublet. 

“You are not going to have me executed?”

“No,” Richard laughed, patting Francis’ shoulders. “No, not after you’ve finally opened my eyes, Francis. You were right. I need her.”

Richard turned around, biting his lip. 

“Well, I’m glad you’ve finally realised it.” Francis sighed, he still felt a bit dizzy. He couldn’t tell whether it was because he would not end up on the block, or because he had been the one to make Richard change his way of thinking. 

“Thank you, Francis. For all you’ve done. Give me a week and I’ll be back, and you can finally return to Minster Lovell. I think you deserve it.”

A knock on the door prevented Francis from saying anything. The nurse laughed a bit at his dumbfounded expression as she handed the little princess over to the King. 

“There you are,” Richard smiled at his daughter and quietly dismissed the nurse. Francis’ lips began to curl into a smile. _Yes, everything is going to be well._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the delay, but I've been through an extremely stressful phase at the uni. It's over now, fortunately, and I hope I'll be able to update this more frequently. As you've probably noticed, this was supposed to be the last chapter, however, I still have a few ideas for this one, so I'm going to add a few more chapters. :) 
> 
> I'm not really happy about this chapter, I hope you like it though. :)


	4. Whispered Promises

Richard laughed at the annoyed grunt Cecily made. She tried to push his hands away and made one frustrated noise after the other. Richard chuckled at the insistence of his daughter. The months had passed so quickly, and now Cecily was taking the first steps on her own. The closer her first birthday came, the more Richard felt the loss of his Anne. 

His focus had been on the matters of state and on the upbringing of his daughter. He tried to forget, but it had hit him harder than anything else had, that he would never be able to do so. 

“I’m not going to let go of you, no matter how hard you’ll try,” he laughed as Cecily tried to loose her father’s fingers from her body. “You will fall, ma petit.” 

“Heavens, Richard! Let her fall, every baby does.” His mother looked up from her needlework and raised an eyebrow. “She’ll never learn to get up if you don’t let her fall.” 

He bit down his lip. Getting used to being a father of a young child had been harder than he’d thought. It was more than ten years ago that he’d held a little infant, that he’d taught Ned how to walk. Now, it felt like being a new father again. And he had to do everything without Anne. 

The fact that Cecily’s personality was not comparable to Ned’s didn’t make it any easier. Ned had clung to his hands, had been afraid of him letting go, Cecily couldn’t wait to conquer the world on her own. She was so much like Anne. Richard already feared he would have to lock her in a tower to prevent her from climbing trees and running after boys. 

Reluctantly, he let go of his daughter, making her sigh in relief. On wobbly legs, she tried to make her way to her grandmother, but landed flat on her backside. The Duchess clicked with her tongue to prevent Richard from jumping up and making a big deal out of it. 

“I hate this, Mother,” he growled. “But it works, look.” Cecily pointed at her young namesake who was already trying to get back on her feet. “I have raised so many children, Richard, including you, I know what to do, and what not.” She knew she would be the only person who was allowed to say something like this to him. 

Richard grumbled something his mother couldn’t understand, but she didn’t even want to. She held out her arms and caught her little granddaughter. “Well done, my little sweetheart. Who’s a big girl? Yes, you are a big girl,” she cooed, making Cecily laugh. 

“Are you still not considering a remarriage?” 

“I am not going to remarry, Mother.”

“Cecily needs a mother.”

“She has me, and she has you and the Countess. She does not need a mother.”

The Duchess sighed, rocking her granddaughter back and forth in her arms. She’d tried to bring up this topic several times now. Maybe it was still too early, but she tried to think politically, something that Richard couldn’t do, not in that aspect. She was sure her granddaughter could be the strong and determined ruler England needed, but she wasn’t sure whether England was already prepared for such a thing. A male heir would make little Cecily’s life much easier. It would lift so much weight off her shoulders. 

“How, if I might ask, how do you imagine Cecily’s future will look like?” 

“She will be prepared.” 

Duchess Cecily realised she wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise, as Richard took his daughter out of her arms. The girl snuggled close and yawned. _I wish you all the strength in the world, my little sweetheart. May God have mercy and let you grow into a strong woman, stronger than all of us._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Richard grinned as he bent over the crib. “Happy birthday, ma petite.” Half opened eyes looked back at him, the sleep still sticking to them. Cecily yawned and rubbed her eyes before she held out her little arms. She babbled happily, as Richard fulfilled her wish and took her out of the crib. 

Richard pressed his daughter close to his chest. He’d spent an hour in the chapel, praying for his Anne, wishing she would be here. Ned’s first birthday was still very vivid in his memories. He’d been at court a few days before, but had given anything, pushed his horse to all limits to be with his son at this special day. His worst enemy back then had been the falling snow. 

It still amazed him how young they’d been back then…and how happy. Cecily’s little fingers reached out for his hair, which had lost nothing of its fascination to her. “Nah, I know it’s your special day, but not today, ma petite,” he grinned bringing some distance between his hair and his daughter. 

Cecily started to pout, making her father laugh. _Oh, yes, so much like your mother._

Francis had taken over the matters of state for this day, and he had to admit he was glad about it. He was still delighted by the change Richard had gone through, whatever had caused it. He would do anything to make Richard spend a day with his daughter, even though it meant having to stammer. 

The evening had dawned, and the sun was about to set as Richard and Cecily entered Westminster Abbey. The little girl buried her face against her father’s chest, frightened by the shadows of the candlelight. “Shh,” Richard murmured, he knew exactly where to go. The place had its own gravity that pulled him to it. He would find it, even if he were blind. 

Her face, carved in marble stone, still pained him. He had turned down the commissioned effigy twice, until it looked like her. She was supposed to get the grave she deserved. His fingers touched her cheeks. _A year…a year without her…_ Cecily’s eyes grew wide, and Richard couldn’t help but think she remembered the face. 

Maybe it was just a distant memory, something Cecily would never know where it came from. Richard leaned his forehead against Cecily, who was now eyeing the effigy with curious eyes. “Your mother…,” he made a chocked sound. 

“Look, Anne. She’s doing fine. I’m sure she’s going to run around and keep the whole palace in suspense,” he laughed. “Just like you.” Cecily buried her head against his neck, grabbing his cloak, not letting go. 

“I’ll always care for her, Anne. I will keep my promise.”


	5. Whispering Dreams

Little feet touched the cold stone floor of the palace. She had escaped the nursery tower again. They all knew how much she preferred sleeping in her Papa’s bed, snuggled close to him. This night, a nightmare had led her to seeking shelter in her father’s arms. The four year old wanted nothing more than to feel secure. 

She had become an expert in avoiding to be caught. The first time had gone terribly wrong, and she had cried almost the whole night. Her nurse Jane had shown no mercy, and told her that her Papa needed his sleep. But she needed her Papa, and she was sure her Papa would understand it. After it, she had developed the perfect strategy to get what she wanted. 

The guards standing before Richard’s chamber already smiled as they saw the little princess approaching. They were quite used to see her, and later, when her nurses would finally discover her escape, they would claim to have never seen the little girl. They bowed and stepped aside, seeing how determined Cecily was to be with her father. 

Richard’s sleep had never been deep since Anne’s death. He immediately realised his daughter had escaped the nursery again, as he heard her little feet scurrying over the floor, knowing immediately they were naked. He raised the covers and let Cecily slip under them. 

“I couldn’t sleep, Papa,” she murmured as she snuggled close to Richard. 

Richard smiled and kissed the top of the tiny head. “Why so?”

“I’ve had a nightmare.”

It always took Richard some time to make her talk about her nightmares. He still firmly believed that it would help her to get over it. He had tried to coax Anne into talking about her nightmares to him, which had only angered her. He still thought that, whenever she’d given in and told him everything, the nightmares had never returned. It was the reason why he tried to make Cecily talk about them as well. 

“It wasn’t really a nightmare…I saw a woman, Papa. She looked so sad.”

Richard’s body stiffened for a second. 

“How did she look like?”

Cecily thought for a minute, pressing her lips together. 

“Her hair was blonde, a bit darker than mine, and her eyes were blue, just like mine, Papa. She was walking through the rose garden. She wore a beautiful blue dress and a necklace that looked like the one from the painting.”

“And why are you scared, ma petit?” 

“I don’t know,” Cecily murmured, chewing on her lower lip. One of the few things that would remind everyone of her father. “I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t.”  
“That’s not everything,” Richard said, raising an eyebrow. “She looked so much like me. What if that was my future?”

Richard pulled his daughter close and she felt immediately secure. 

“Did she say anything to you?”

Cecily thought for a minute before looking up at Richard. “She said she would miss us.” 

Richard couldn’t sleep. Even Cecily’s even breath next to him couldn’t lure him to sleep. He thought about the things Cecily had told him earlier. He was sure she’d dreamt of Anne. He’d never told her much about Anne. It still hurt him. He still missed her terribly. She knew the things her grandmother, the Countess had told her, she knew the painting, she knew the effigy. But she didn’t really know much about her mother. 

The dawning of the day had never been so welcome to him. He kissed his daughter and got up, pulling the covers over her. He would let her sleep. He always did. 

“What’s wrong with you, Richard?” Francis sighed. 

“I think I should tell Cecily about her mother. I don’t want to, but I feel like I have to.”

“Hmm, you probably should. It’s her right to know more than the few childhood stories the countess has to tell.” Francis put down the document. “I’m going to have her brought to you. We won’t get far anyways. How could we even when your mind is somewhere else?”

“Papa!” Cecily cried and flew into Richard’s arms. She didn’t understand why Uncle Francis had come to pick her up and bring her to her papa, but now she was here and she was happy. It didn’t happen that often. Richard pulled the child close before he settled back on the chair. 

“Remember your dream?” He asked. Cecily nodded, not understanding what he actually wanted. Richard took a deep breath. 

“It wasn’t your future. Don’t be afraid. It was your Mama.” 

“My Mama?” She asked softly, trying to think of the things she knew about her Mama. It wasn’t much. She knew a few things her grandmother had told her. She’d been told her Mama had had a very similar personality and the same looks. 

She snuggled close to Richard. “What was Mama like?”

Richard laughed, “Oh, she was a lot like you. Always running after the boys, climbing up trees, throwing things when she was angry.” Cecily grinned, yes, that sounded a lot like her. 

“Was she beautiful?” 

“The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You even look a lot like your Mama.” He gently nudged her nose. 

“She loved you very much, my sweet.” 

“But she didn’t know me for long.”

“She loved you even before she knew you. But, I think she knew you pretty well. After all, you were the one who kept her up past midnight, moving and kicking.” Richard chuckled, thinking of how Anne had complained about not being able to sleep. He’d stayed up with her, the whole night, gently talking to her and rubbing the rounded belly. 

“Why did she go?”

“It was God’s decision. If she’d had it the way she wanted, she would still be here.”

Richard and Cecily had talked the whole day. They’d walked through the rose garden together, and Richard had shown her all the places her mother had loved so dearly. As the sun was about to set, he had allowed her to sleep in his bed, for he didn’t want to be alone either. 

_She sat by the fire, a serene smile on her face. She had never been more beautiful. Richard blinked several times. He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. He took a few steps into her direction, stopping before her. She looked up and her smile grew even wider._

_“I must have scared her terribly. I am sorry,” she murmured, looking past Richard, where the child was sleeping in his bed._

_“She was just a bit…confused…or worried. She wanted to help you and it made her sad that she couldn’t,” Richard murmured._

_Anne laughed. She spread out her arms and turned around to let him look at her. “Yes, it’s me! It’s your Anne, Richard.” He drew her into his arms, afraid to let go. Afraid to wake up from this dream. Afraid to wake up without her. She touched his face, reflections of the fire glistening in her eyes._

_“Will you kiss me, finally?” She laughed after a moment of silence. “I thought you’d never ask.” He pressed his lips against hers. He’d always thought he’d have to die first to feel her close to him again. Everything was familiar. Her smell, her touch. She was so real._

_Her small hand came to rest where his heart was beating. Richard leaned his forehead against hers, swallowing down the tears which were threatening to blind his vision. “You are doing so wonderfully. I always knew you would. I am so proud of you.”_

_“You are missed so much, Anne.”_

_“We’ll be together again someday. In a future that’s still so far out of your reach.” She took his hand and kissed its palm._

_“You’ll be gone when I wake up, right?”_

_Anne laughed. He’d never heard anything that beautiful._

_“Yes and no,” she said, taking his hand and leading him over to the bed. “Look, a part of me will always be with you.” Gently, she let her fingers run through her daughter’s hair._

_She kissed him again, murmuring how much she loved him against his lips._

_“I love you, Anne. I know that I always have.”_


End file.
